The Saga of Geir Winterbane
by Elenaria
Summary: Awardwinning piece of vikingstyle meter poetry, on the subject of heroism among dwarves in Warhammer Fantasy.


((My contest entry for the "The Winter of our Content"-contest at winner of the Acolyte cathegory. Being very elvish, no-one quite thought I would come up with something like this, about the dwarves in Warhammer Fantasy. There are a few small details to be polished, but the semi-viking meter of poetry appeals to me.))

This being the Saga of Geir Winter-bane, as told by Njarlgrim Raven-feeder, White-bearded and Golden-tongued, in the great Halls under the Mountain. Though long since it was, and but the first of his deeds, it is still sung throughout every keep, as an example for those not yet full of beard:

"And grim it was, winter, chinbiter howling –

all-consumer roaring, could not bar cold.

Axe-wielders all, few remembered

a sun-hiding like it, not known since whitest beard bore colour still.

Rumbling death, from sky-piercers

often walked brave shields to death's halls –

no fell beast was it, to meet in combat fair.

Now were assembled, wise beards all, a full moon they took counsel.

Up spoke Gere Troll-bane, enemies many smote he,

son of Bor, ruler of Three Gods Mountain, good for his gold:

'Grimnir All-father, mighty ancestor,

before great tome of grievous errors Dammaz Kron,

was no friend of forces of disorder.

Ever enemies of mighty khazukan are they.'

True words were his: cold-bringer indeed from north was hailing.

Next spoke Bjorghild wife of Ebraz Oath-keeper and Gem-smith,

wielder of Orc-slayer, rich in gromril and beard:

'Able helmets many have perished, before winter passes

mighty halls, strong khazad all, of Grungni's folk

will they be empty? An axe-swinger strong, with colour yet in beard

should a call come, he must answer.'

Up stood Geir, already long of beard, slayer of beasts fell,

son of Hroki king of Wolves' Pass Mountain,

mighty foe of green-blooded, keeper of many mines.

Young was Geir, proven in battle, eager for glory

he would go to vanquish northern fiends.

Then spoke Hadar Gorl-finder, mighty with hammer,

defender of Grim Keep, steadfast like rock:

'Good company and good ale you are forsaking,

other spears may not follow. Enemy strong, dangers many

the northern wastelands are your goal.'

Glimmering shirt was his, steadfast hammer and axe,

out strode Geir, great-beards all wished him steady stones to tread

clear water, much meat, battles fair.

Alone he wandered, over him shone sky-fire, under him deep snow.

Dangers many he faced, brave rock of dwarfs

far heard the earth the sound of his steps,

till home of treacherous forces he neared.

Then he did battle, with axe he clove enemies many

proved his worth, fed carrions of battlefield.

Nine times and two, many beasts foul

did not make him tarry, he smote them all.

Then last came evil mountains, there he rested,

Grungni's son, but not weary of battle.

Fine mead he had brought, now to strengthen himself

he stilled thirst mighty. Announcing with great voice

his challenge, Geir strode forth, hammer on rock.

Out came champion, terrible monster of winter

breath like northern howler, voice like flood of ice.

Now they did battle. Clashing of axe and sword,

on shield, frosty man-biter shattered.

Grievous wounds dealt, both champions rested,

then met again in dance of death.

Mighty foe of dwarfs, champion of disorder and chaos,

good enemy he was! Long they fought, skilled in war both,

Geir stood fast with fiend-cleaver in hand.

So fell evil champion, sender of ice and cold in wind.

Cleft in twain, thundering down, roared in last defiance.

Like rock was Geir, now winter's bane, shook his hammer.

Homeward bound, he was not challenged, none dared face

bravest of khazukan, mighty in mind and body.

With him went warmth and softer winds,

greatest feast greeted brave helm of Wolves' Pass Mountain.

Many kegs emptied, celebration of heroic feat!

Yet Geir Winter-bane, hero of end of winter

did not tarry long. With braided beard magnificient,

sharp axe, sturdy shield, many saw him go.

Once more, north he strode, eager for glory. Some followed, heroes all

still their sagas are sung! Long lived Geir, winter's bane,

take heed of his example, all you of our great folk!"

This concluding the Saga of Geir Winter-bane, as told by Njarlgrim of the Great Halls under the most hallowed mountain of dwarfdom.


End file.
